He stood among the corpses, examining his kills, marvelling his work. He watched as the blood trickled though the gaps in his Argonian victim's scales; each drop like a gondola in the canals of Vivec, navigating through a maze of yellow crossroads and obstructions. He took a final glance around, as if he were checking that all of the dozen reptillian people scattered around the room were still dead.
He exited the tomb, wincing as the sun shone onto his grey skin for the first time in a week. Once his eyes had adjusted to the brightness, he saw two more Argonians approaching. They each had a full set of Netch Leather armour; the one on the left held a short-bow, while the other had a steel spear on his back. They hadn't spotted him yet, so the Dunmer ducked behind a pile of rocks blanketed in ash.

The two Argonians wandered up to the entrance of the tomb and began conversing in what appeared to be Jel, their native tongue. The discussion quickly turned sour, and the bow wielding Argonian shoved the other towards the Dunmer crouched in the shadow of the rock pile. He stumbled and fell backwards; and the Dunmer only had enough time to bring his armour-clad hand up to protect himself. The Argonian fell onto his hands, and gasped as the sharpened glass fingertips punched through his armour and into the scaled flesh of his back. The Dunmer pulled his hand out of the reptilian corpse, and tossed it to the side. The remaining Argonian drew his bow as the Dunmer stood up and strode into the light. The Dunmer flexed his right hand, and it's deadly sharp fingers. This was enough for the Argonian to drop his bow and flee, running remarkably fast even for an Argonian. A single arrow fell from the quiver at his hip, and was picked up by the Dunmer, who now held also holding the short-bow. The Dunmer nocked the iron arrow, drew the bow back as far as he could. Most archers wouldn't bother attempting a shot at this range, but the Dunmer was different.

He was Rothis Verethi, descendant of Thauraver Verethi, a bow-wielding assassin of the late Morag Tong. Thauraver was renown for his ability to calculate the trajectory of his arrows in almost no time at all, no matter what bow or arrows he used, and despite the conditions. This knowledge was passed on to only one child per generation, which they would in turn reveal to the next. Rothis was the most current holder of the secrets that Thauraver had mastered.

Rothis thought for a second, and then loosed the iron arrow from the short-bow. It flew through the up through the air, turned at the peak of its flight, and came down at the Argonian. It pierced the exposed scales on the back of his neck and impaled his throat. He dropped to his knees and gasped for air, as the blood rushed to the wound and evidently caused him to begin spitting his own blood. Rothis advanced and stood behind the crippled, but not yet dead Argonian and grabbed his left horn. Tipping his victim's head back, Rothis spoke to him. "You do not belong here, this is not your home. Its rightful owners, the Dunmer, will retake Morrwoind and your kind shall be driven from it and back into the cesspit you call Black Marsh. Not you though, you don't get to return. Consider yourself blessed that you die upon my ground." Rothis preached, before plunging his fingers into the Argonian's throat and ripping it out. Rothis let the body in front of him drop to the ashen ground, and stared at his right hand. The blood dripped of the sharp tips of gauntlet's fingers, and onto his leather boot. He then began his walk west towards the border, to Skyrim.